Bal. No? more no's? I know him, let him enter.
Med. Signeor, I thanke your kind Intelligence. The newes long since was sent into our eares, Yet we embrace your love; so fare you well.
Carl. Will you smell to a sprig of Rosemary?
No. No.
Bal. Will you be hang'd?
No. No.
Bal. This is either Signeor No, or no Signeor.
Med. He makes his love to us a warning-peece To arme our selves against we come to Court, Because the guard is doubled.
Omnes. Tush, we care not.
Bal. If any here armes his hand to cut off the head, let him first plucke out my throat. In any Noble Act Ile wade chin-deepe with you: but to kill a King!